Salt and Sealskin Braids
by Pippin's LadyKnight
Summary: Not much is known about the Tia Dalma. Is there a reason for that, I wonder? R
1. Introduction

Salt and Sealskin Braids

By Pippin's Lady Knight...

Her skin was darkened further by the sun. Unruly hair tamed in dreads and braids, wrapped in bits of odds and ends. Leather, twine, whatever came into her hands. Feathers and shells collected at the ends, making small sounds when she tossed her head.

Small rows of raised tattoos stretched across her cheekbones and below her full bottom lip. Primitive and beautiful they added to the complexity of her face.

With eyes rimmed with heavy smudges of coal she watched ships docking in the bay, feet languidly stirring the warm salty water.

There was one ship in particular she was looking for. On its hull was a mermaid, unclothed and in all the glory of womanhood. An older ship, it had none of the gleam and strut of the ships that settled on the bay, fresh out of the yard. Instead its sides were weathered, scratched from years of battling reefs and clinging ocean life. She was a beautiful ship. _Redemption _was her name, and it fit her in more ways than one.

She stood, brushing sad and salt and splinters from her ragged skirts, smoothing her blouse, and sighing.

So he hadn't come back. Like he'd promised too. She should have known better, or at least expected it. Never trust the word of a pirate. In this business, it was an unwritten law. And yet, she had broken it with abandon. And for what? Some smooth talking, sauntering, scallywag of a pirate with hair as dark as her own and a wit to rival any man…

She'd sold herself cheap, let him buy her with the last few schillings in his purse, allowing his promise to return and take her away with him to cloud her judgment.

And for that, she had lost the privilege to use the bed when she snagged a customer. That was reserved for those of the women who paid enough for their room and board to warrant some measure of comfort during the long working hours of the night.

Now she found herself propped up against ale barrels, held up, ankles locked around his waist, with only a wall to support her. As it was, she had been picking splinters out of her back for the last three weeks, and the ones she couldn't reach, she had to pay the other girls to remove for her.

But it was no use kicking herself again and again for something she couldn't fix.

And so, walking slowly, putting one bare foot in front of the other, she made her way back to the whore house…trying not to turn and scan the horizon one last time, one last time…before the ocean disappeared from sight.

The winds would blow him back to her someday…


	2. Chapter one

Chapter one

Nixe walked slowly, winding her way through fish stalls, cloth hawkers, fruit stands and slave traders. She kept her head low, and her eyes focused ahead of her, trying to seem as small and worthless as she could.

In the end she made it with only minor mishap, bothered by three youths near her own age. Who, had recognized her for what she was and thought they would get something for free considering that there were three of them and only one of her. Grabbing her roughly, they near tore off the sleeve of her dress, but scattered after the first received an unwelcome blow to his manhood, and a cuff to the ear. They cursed her wildly as they ran, calling horrible things over their shoulders. The girl merely shrugged and continued on, it would matter little later.

By the time she made it back to the Red Feather it was dusk. All manner of Caribbean bugs were swarming about the people still milling through the streets, and near the smoking and freshly lit oil lamps…

She walked in through the front door slowly; knowing one of the others would only curse her, and tell M'selle if she tried to sneak in the back. Not to say that she didn't expect to receive punishment for shirking her shifts at the tavern's bar. And she couldn't even say that her day off was worth it. She had nothing to show except salt encrusted feet and a torn dress.

Thinking about how she must look, with one ragged sleeve, and the other still intact, she reached up to tear the sleeve the rest of the way off, enjoying the sound of ripping fabric, and made the other one to match. Now her dress was held up only by her chest and the laces that bound it tight to her form. But that also mattered little. She wasn't in this business to look fashionable. Most of the men only saw, or imagined what was beneath the scraps of fabric anyway.

Nixe sat down at a rickety stool, and sighed, dropping her head into her hands.

"'E didn't come back, did'e?" a busty brunette woman drawled carelessly from the other side of the bar.

She cringed, but nodded.

"An you've already gone and dug yourself a heapin hole of trouble straying 'bout at the docks all day, looking lovesick at the horizon, righ'?"

She sighed this time, in accord. "Lord, pour me something to drink, will you?"

Marne raised an eyebrow. "Thought you were all too adaman' bout not dulling the wits with drink before you work?"

Sifting hands through her dark hair and wiping at the sweat that was already beading on her neck, she choked out "Tonight is an exception."

Marne consented, pulling out a small glass, and filling it with an amber liquid, the smell was heady and sharp. "Don't drink that all a'once. It's more potent when it's warm…" She warned.

But the contents of the glass had already disappeared down the dark one's neck before she had even finished speaking.

The other girl laughed, full and hearty at her friend's actions. "So, a fish in more ways then one, eh?" she drawled.

Nixe grimaced. She was used to the pokes at her name. Having once boasted proudly that her father had named her for a mermaid in a trader's language; the other girls had never let her forget it, coming up with nicknames such as Fish. She never made the mistake again, and it was a lesson well learned. Tell others what they need to know, and naught else.

"Was anyone looking for me?" Nixe rasped, the drink hitting her stomach hard. It was empty and with a threat, it rolled, and contracted in her belly.

"'Couple a gents. Not many a the girls' here'll do a standie for the price you charge…" Marne laughed.

"M'selle?"

Marne began plaiting her hair, a piece of rag in her teeth. She spat it out on the counter and tied off the end. "Passed ou' in her room all day. The heat finally got to her. More than one o' us told her not to wear tha velvet dress." She smiled widely, showing a gap between her front teeth.

"No one's told her I was gone?" She asked, running fingertips under her eyes to fix her kohl.

"Nah, and if they do, I'll tell her you was here wit me, all day, back in the kitchen, bleeding chickens."

Nixe nodded, grateful. Even though that's probably what she would be doing tomorrow. Marne was kind enough, but no one around these parts did anything for free. You got something, or you gave nothing.

She turned to scan the room for customers. Even after being in the business for only three short years, Nixe was able to pick out an honest sailor from a pirate. A man with a family, from the lads who were ready to put up schillings for a good time…she also had a mean eye for slave traders, who had a mean eye for women. Rare enough times they traipsed in, under the guise of seamen, but they were too looky, eyes settling on all the wrong places to be customers. They could be spotted, and when they were they were cleared out, and run off. But sometimes they did get lucky.

Her dark eyes settled on a great bear of a man. He was black as pitch, and clean shaven, from crown to chin, sitting alone at a table in the center of the room, no drink in hand. His coat was tailored, his shirt a crisp white, dark skin un-pocked. Perfect.

Nixe smiled, and turned to signal for a customer's ale. It was watered down enough that they weren't losing profit if the girls brought free drinks to customers, but not so much that it lost the taste of a brew.

"Reel hum in, sweet," cooed Marne in her ear as she passed her the mug.

And Nixe, walking to the table, chest puffed attractively out in front of her and ale in hand, had every intention of doing just that.

OOO

I had firstly intended this to be a one-shot. I was proving to my mum that I could monologue and pump something out just as quick as the next bloke. And this turned out well enough that I posted it. So here it is, my second part. And thank you to Chase 3 for finally realizing that it was Tia I'm portraying. Nixe is a temp name… I'm getting to how she becomes Tia Dalma eventually (it should be vair interesting!) Thanks for the compliments all around, and I hope you enjoyed chapter one, second part to my prelude.

Cheers,

PLK


	3. Chapter two

Chapter two

Nixe sauntered over, set down the brimming mug and placed herself in her prospect's lap. His arm wound around her waist receptively, his hands rested on her thighs.

She smiled. "Wot's a good looking gent like yo'self doing 'ere all alone?" She drawled with an English accent at full tilt in her voice.

His eyebrows knit together when he heard it, and he gave her a puzzled smile.

"Wot's a matter? Cat got yur tongue?" She purred, before she leaned in and captured his mouth with her own.

He kissed her back hungrily, pulling her tight against his chest. Finally she leaned back and broke the kiss, breathless, and brought a hand to her lips.

"Now then, where'll we go? What do you prefer mate? Standing, beach, bed?"

He smiled at her, and laughed in her face. "Come now," he rumbled, pulling her back against him. "I thought you were just being friendly…"

She pulled away from him in disgust, dark eyes snapping, and hair whirling over her shoulder, trinkets clacking.

"Ye be bloody lucky that the first one be free." She snarled in reference to their kiss, as she straightened her slipping bodice.

His smile widened, took on a bit of a predatory air. "Lost that rash accent, I see."

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious and hostile now. "Wot's a man such as yer self doing in a cathouse, with no lady on yer lap?" The accent was twined about her words once more, settling back as comfortably as an old dress to its wearer's frame.

He reached for his purse, which was obscenely full. "Four schillings if you can tell me your father's name, chit."

Nixe licked her lips, and planted her hands on her hips, angling her stance away from him, ready to run if she had to. "Why?" she said flatly.

He shrugged trying for nonchalance, but his eyes were hard on her face, and smile still played at the corners of his mouth. "Four schillings." He jangled his purse invitingly.

Nixe was tempted...Tempted to give him a false name, to snatch the purse from betwixt his fingers and make a dash for it. But she'd be caught, and she knew it. This man was no idiot, nor was he some slug-abed. The muscles in his arms and neck told her that. She cast a furtive glance at his long legs. No, it was not worth the risk.

"Get out." Her voice was ice, hard and unforgiving.

"What?" The smile was now gone completely from his face, his dark eyes dangerous.

She leaned in until she was just inches from his face, trusting that he would not strike her in full view of everyone else in the crowded bar room. "Get out now, or we'll run you out." She straightened and pointed to the door.

A few of the other girls and their gents had turned to gape at the commotion she was causing and a ripple of laughter swelled about the room and followed the man as he got up and walked to the door of the tavern.

He would get no more girls asking for his favor tonight whether he wanted them or not. He was marked.

With a shake of his head, he closed the door behind him, eyes still settled uncannily on Nixe's livid face. He would remember this, the eyes said.

The dark girl shuddered in the warm salty night, turned away and went back for another drink. One she had no coins to pay for.

By doing so, she would be even more in debt to this hellish place than she already was, and she knew it, but that did not stop her from traipsing behind the bar and taking a pull off of one of the bottles. Tonight, she just did not care. Once again, she had come too close to losing it all. And this second time was just too close for comfort.

OOO

Aha. And there you go. If you are reading this, please review…I'm not a fan of ghosts. (Readers who hit a story and don' bother to review) But thanks for looking anyways. Hits make my day too.

PLK


	4. Chapter three

SWITCHING TO NIXE'S POV (first person)

Chapter three

"Wot did you go an' do that fo'?" Polly near shrieked, jerking the bottle of brandy out of my grasp.

"Oh close yer trap. I'll pay for it." I spat, wiping my lips. I lifted my hair off of my neck and swiped at the sweat there with a bar rag. Instantly I regretted it. Now I smelled of spilt ale as well as sweat. I grimaced.

Polly gave me a swat. "Not the spirits…with the gent. Dark skin marks traders and traders marks a full purse…"

I narrowed my eyes. "Aye, a trader, that be wot he was. But how's one like you t'know whether it be bodies he be wanting to trade?" The words came out a growl.

Mary came up behind Polly, her red curls sticking to her temples with sweat.

"'E was a fine gent if you ask me." She said with a languid smile. "Paid quite nicely though things was over a bit too quick for my liking." She laughed, and Polly, and little Emma, the youngest of our lot joined in coming up behind her redheaded friend, looking flushed.

"You did 'im then, eh?" I asked, eyes guarded, even though Mary's wits was usually dulled with ale and inhaling too much of her own perfume by this time of night…

The redhead laughed. "O'course! You could 'ere his purse jangling away from down the block."

I sighed. "And did 'e ask you anythin'?"

Mary shook her head. "Nah. Wasn't much interested in talking, 'cept to ask 'bout me price, nothing further than that."

So. He hadn't been looking for another roll in the sand then. He had been looking for me, I thought, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. Somehow word must have gotten out…and if this was that pirate's doing, he would pay. At this point, I didn't care if I would have to track him all the way to Africa and back. He'd get what was coming to him if this was his doing, by god.

"I'm going to my room, I feel sick." I announced, and Marne instantly showed up at my elbow.

"Take my bed. I'm working extra tonight, and you shouldn' be sleeping on jus the planks when yer off yer feed." She mumbled loudly, hooking an arm through mine. She was acting, and I could see it. But the others couldn't be bothered to care.

Together, the pair of us made our way up the stairs.

"'E asked you, dindt he?" The brunette whispered in my ear as we mounted the last step.

I nodded, and shrugged. "Someone's been talking again, an' I don' like it. He wouldda got me by force, if there weren' so many people watchin, I'm sure."

Marne looked worried. "M'selle didn't say anything to you, did she?"

I shook my head. "Not a peep… but it seems all I've got since that damned rogue bedded me is naught but trouble. I told him more than I should have, but I was under the notion that he was profoundly drunk, though the sod had no trouble getting it up and done with when the time came…" I spat.

I should have known better, aye. I should have. But I'd a thought that damned brightness in his eyes was ale… I pressed a hand against my forehead, it felt hot, but it was liable to be so only because of the drink, and the heat.

Marne tutted, "And here I thought you were the most closed lipped of all the girls here, and then ye go and spill yer bleedin' guts for the first…" She stopped short. "Cor, Nixxie, I'm sorry…it's just, it's…if they've got a good offer for ye, I know that that _woman_ isn't going to pass it up. Seeing as yer more trouble than yer worth most a the time."

I pressed my lips together. I had no intention of being sold to some cove and then passed around 'is filthy tub's crew, used until I wasn't good enough entertainment no more, and then tossed over the side before the sods' notions of bad luck caught up with them.

With ma throat slit, if they was compassionate, without it, if they felt the need to have one last show, and watch me struggle in the water until the sharks came, or until I jus' plum gave up and plain sank to the bottom.

But it's what was going to happen if someone offered a good enough amount of coins, and bought me off the whorehouse. I had been bound to land since I was seven. Jus after me ma had tatted my face and my da seemed to get sick of luggin' round a second woman, when he could only bed one. Firstly, I had belonged to a fishwife. Gutting the little things her husband caught until I started to catch 'is eye. Then it was off to the cathouse wit me. I got a smack on the bottom as farewell from the man, and a clout about the ears from his woman as goodbyes.

But the sad thing was, this time; I had set my ownself up for it. I cringed, remembering the way I'd cried after that man as he had stumbled his way up the gangplank… _"Please, it won' be much…it won' be much! They'll be glad ta be rid of me! A few coins and you'll have me f' good! Please!"_

He had hardly acknowledged me then. Just tipped his hat with "Be a good girl now, luv," and a wink. And still…I had dared to hope. Fools hope, nonetheless.

Stupid blighter…and now he was to be my undoing.

"He wanted my father's name, wot's on my papers clear as day…and I just knows he's gonna keep coming back till he gets it…" I whispered, curling up on Marne's pallet. A piece of straw poked me in the back so, seeing as it wanted to makes itself a part o

Me, I pulled it out of the pad, turned it betwixt ma fingers to separate the stands and began to weave it into my hair.

Marne slapped my hands away, with a small laugh. "I don' see how anyone finds the likes of ye attractive, wit yer head full a trinkets, kin to a birds nest…"

I smiled, flashing my good white teeth. "You forgot my tats, Marnie. How could a man see thems on my face and still want me, eh?" I quipped; grinning as I quickly reached up and finished the straw.

I always added things to me hair when I was upset. And Marnie always slapped me hands when she caught me at it… it was a good thing that my mane kept on growing, or I'd have run out of room long before tonight.

"I swear it though…I'd run a blade across me own throat before I'd be taken slave on some Bark, mark my words. And if that cove comes back here tomorrow, I'll tell him jus that. He'll not get nothing from me, but that." I said with finality, smashing the good mood our little game had made. I rested my head on her tattered pillow.

Marne suddenly plopped down besides me, her form curling about my very own one, and she tucked my hair behind my ear, and laid her head down herself.

"Thought ye was working extra tonight."

Marne laughed. "I jus dindt want any o' those ninnies to follow us up is all. Let Polly work the bottles, now that she's finished working the hay."

I laughed. And settled back in, glad to have some company that I dindt have to work for.

The last thought to pass my mind before the blackness around the edges swept up to meet her was _"My da's name be John Tucker Rowe, and I won't ever tell him that. I won't ever…tell nobody that…"_

OOO


End file.
